These feelings on the part of Mr Thewless are so natural as scarcely to be worthy of record. More important is the fact that he had other feelings as well. In all this he saw himself as about one millimetre high. Of course Sir Bernard Paxton could be scored off; genius always can. And perhaps this genius was more vulnerable than many – for Mr Thewless had come to discern the weakness in the man before him. His will by no means matched his intellect. The creaking magnificence of this great London house attested it, for here was simply the issue of an irrelevant part of himself – his wealth – which he had been unable to resist. But more striking than this was what was already discernible of the relationship between Sir Bernard and his son. The father doted on the son, the son pushed the father around, and now the father was seeking extraneous aid. To Mr Thewless, who contrived to manage boys simply by taking his ability to do so for granted, this was a familiar situation in which there was always something slightly ridiculous. And the absurdity grew when the father was a towering person like Paxton. What was diminutive in Mr Thewless drew him for a moment into an attitude of pleased superiority.
But this was to take the matter basely. One has the duty of reverencing genius in its frailties as well as in its strength. And certainly it was not for Mr Thewless, confronting the intellectual beacon that was Paxton, to pride himself on the continued independence of his own flickering farthing candle. In any perplexity into which this great man had fallen it was his duty to assist to the maximum of his power… This resolution on the part of Mr Thewless, which was sincere and generous, added considerably to the jolt he was presently to experience. But, as it happened, it was to have consequences far wider than that. Upon it, and in the near future, imponderable things were to hang.
Meanwhile, Mr Thewless discoursed on School Certificate. ‘Still,’ he said, ‘substantially below the standard? I am afraid there must be something very far wrong. Is he a capable boy?’
With parents, this was one of Mr Thewless’ strongest words. A small boy who was likely enough to become a Senior Wrangler or a Fellow of Balliol he would by no means describe in terms more extravagant. And this he had found was a capital technique.
‘Capable?’ Sir Bernard sounded dubious. ‘Humphrey’s intelligence quotient is fair. In fact it is very high so far as the common run of able people go. But he does seem to be retarded in certain respects.’
Mr Thewless wondered whether he himself might be ranked among the common run of able people. He doubted it.
‘On the other hand’ – Sir Bernard spoke with an effort – ‘there are matters in which he is uncommonly precocious. That is particularly so in – um – the sphere of the emotional life.’
This sounded far from promising. Mr Thewless considered. ‘But he has at least held his place at school?’
Sir Bernard looked extremely gloomy. ‘They wouldn’t be in a hurry to turn out my son, you know. I doubt whether latterly the position has been other than that. Humphrey is somewhat ungovernable, as I said.’
‘But the holidays have begun, and he is at home? I think I had better see the boy, Sir Bernard, before even the most tentative arrangement is made.’
‘That is very reasonable. And I believe Humphrey is actually in the house at this moment. Only – it is really rather an awkward thing – he is at present quite resolved not to show himself.’
Mr Thewless, receiving this information, was expressively silent.
‘But he is quite keen on a certain holiday that has been proposed. Cousins on my late wife’s side – folk, actually, whom I seldom meet – have asked him to join them in Ireland for a month. It is there that I would wish you to accompany him, and keep him to his reading as well as you can. If Humphrey is given to understand that he may only go on condition that he has a tutor–’
‘I quite understand.’ And Mr Thewless was indeed perfectly familiar with bargaining and compromising parents. ‘Do these cousins live permanently in Ireland?’
‘I know almost nothing about them. But I imagine they merely have a place there to which they go at this time of year for shooting and diversions of that sort.’
‘In fact, the proposal would be that I should take Humphrey for purposes of study to what will probably prove to be a large house-party in a hunting-lodge or shooting-box? I hardly think that such conditions would be likely to favour application in a wayward lad.’
Sir Bernard looked harassed and depressed. ‘I quite see the force of what you say. And you do very well to insist on it. Only–’
At this moment there came a low buzzing sound from somewhere on the exquisitely lacquered table behind which Sir Bernard sat. With a word of apology, he picked up a telephone receiver. It was merely an instrument, Mr Thewless conjectured, by which he maintained communication with other parts of this ramifying establishment – and indeed what appeared to issue faintly from the earpiece was the voice of the objectionable butler. Mr Thewless disapproved of a gentleman thus ordering matters as if his home were a laboratory or an office. But genius, he reflected, makes its own rules. And again he surveyed the noble brow and perpetually wondering eyes of the great scientist. It was really satisfactory – it was really very satisfactory, after all – to find oneself drawn into the affairs of one so eminent.
‘At once,’ said Sir Bernard. There was something like surprise and relief in his tone. He replaced the receiver, and in the same moment his hand went down in what might have been the action of pressing an electric bell. He looked at Mr Thewless in an abstraction so extreme as to suggest that some profound speculation on the structure of the physical universe had suddenly come to him from the void. And then he spoke. ‘I shall give myself the pleasure,’ he said, ‘of writing to you by this evening’s post. Should it be possible…’
And thus in a matter of seconds – although not before achieving a full realization of what had happened – Mr Thewless found himself being shown out. Some more acceptable candidate for the distinction of tutoring young Humphrey Paxton had turned up. What manner of man was his successful rival? Mr Thewless had his answer as he stood in the hall waiting to be handed his suspect umbrella and his insufficient hat. For through the open door of the library he glimpsed a young man of athletic figure and confident bearing who was beguiling his brief period of waiting by turning over the pages of The Times. Mr Thewless knew the type.
He walked down the broad steps of the Paxton mansion into London sunlight. The letter which Sir Bernard would write that evening already lay open in his mind. He had received it before. That it was a disconcerting letter to receive was a fact lying not at all in the economic sphere. Mr Thewless was never unable to obtain employment, and that on terms as good as it ever occurred to him to bargain for. No, the jolt lay elsewhere… Mr Thewless reached the pavement and took a deep breath of air – an air equally redolent of lime trees and petrol engines. He was, he tried to persuade himself, well out of it. The Paxton establishment had irritated him; Humphrey Paxton sounded a most unpromising boy; the proposed arrangement would have been altogether unsatisfactory from a working point of view. Nevertheless, Mr Thewless was disappointed. And this, since he was an honest man, he presently admitted to himself. Galileo, Bacon, Newton…that morning he had been with the gods. Genius had half turned to him in its frailty and he had been prepared to shoulder whatever responsibility followed. In his heart Mr Thewless believed that he would have done not badly. As he turned away from the Paxton portico and walked through the quiet, almost empty square, he felt the universe contracting about him and building up, not many inches from his nose, its old and familiar horizons. It was as if, while in the great man’s presence, he too had for a moment contrived to peer over that brick wall. But now – to put it less graphically – the humdrum was establishing itself once more as his natural environment. For some little time his life would feel the narrower as a result of this episode. And then he would forget all about it.
But in this prognostication Mr Thewless was wrong. As a consequence of his visit to Sir Bernard Paxton,
an altogether fuller life was presently to be his. And in this his fate was to contrast markedly with that of the young man whom he had glimpsed in the library.
2
The Spanish library had a good deal impressed Captain Cox, and now the Chinese study impressed him too. Nevertheless, the marked deference with which he shook hands with Sir Bernard Paxton was only partly a tribute to wealth. Captain Cox, quite as much as Mr Thewless, respected genius. And Sir Bernard certainly had abundance of it. He could, likely enough, show you how to press a button and blow up any gang of rascals who were making a nuisance of themselves on the other side of Europe – and was it not something of a red-letter day to be in the presence of that?
The mind of Captain Cox as he made this reflection quite kindled to the idea of science; there floated before him such vague images of its unfolding wonders as the genius of the American people has given to the world through the medium of strip fiction. Sir Bernard had a head like an egg, which was entirely as it should be; and he was probably mad. ‘Honoured to meet you, sir,’ said Captain Cox, quite carried away. Then, feeling the shockingly foreign lack of restraint in this, he blushed deeply. ‘Warm day,’ he added hastily. ‘Wonderful season, I’m told, up in the north. Birds strong on the wing.’
Sir Bernard Paxton bowed. Having among his other endowments a substantial insight into human nature, he saw at once that the muscular young barbarian before him was not a bad fellow. It was for this fundamental fact of character, no doubt, that he had been so highly recommended by persons enjoying Sir Bernard’s confidence. For an intellect, clearly, he represented something like absolute zero. But, of course – thought Sir Bernard confusedly – that might be all to the good.
For in undoubted fact Sir Bernard was confused. In that part of his life which concerned itself with family responsibilities his son Humphrey had reduced him to sheer muddle-headedness. He was devoted to the boy, and this although he seldom had more than ten minutes of the day in which to think of him. Yet in Sir Bernard obscure forces had come to ensure that when a decision about Humphrey had to be made that decision would generally be wrong. This was hard on Sir Bernard, and of course a little hard on Humphrey too; certainly it did not contribute to the building up in him of the purposive young scientist whom Sir Bernard desired to achieve. And now Sir Bernard, preparing to swallow Captain Cox whole, was no doubt making an error which could have been pointed out to him by his gardener or his cook.
‘There are directions,’ said Sir Bernard, ‘in which my son has been over-stimulated for his years. I fear that the society which I tend to draw around myself might be charged with being excessively intellectual, and this has reacted unfavourably on the boy.’
Captain Cox nodded. ‘A bit too much of a book-worm, I suppose? Still, we’ve caught him young, and it ought to be possible to get back to a healthier state of affairs. I generally recommend horses.’
‘Horses?’ Sir Bernard appeared slightly at sea. ‘No; it is not that Humphrey has become over-studious. It is rather that he has reacted against the intellectual – or at least the scientific – bias of his home. The stimulus has led him – um – to overcompensate in other directions. I do not know even that his morals are good.’
‘Ah! Well, I should be inclined to say that the answer was cold baths. And perhaps I would cut out the horses at first. Fishing would be better.’ And Captain Cox, who, like Mr Thewless, was not without his repertory of tricks, appeared to consult some fount of inner experience. ‘Yes; the thing to do will be to get him out with a rod and line.’
‘As a matter of fact, I am thinking of sending him to Ireland now. And there will be plenty of fishing with the relations to whom he is to go. As to horses, I cannot say. My recollection is that people keep donkeys in such places.’ Sir Bernard paused, aware that this was not a very well directed line of thought – aware too that he was somewhat disingenuously concealing the fact that the Irish visit represented Humphrey’s own determination. ‘I have no doubt that an outdoor life would be most desirable. But, as a matter of fact, there is School Certificate to consider. Humphrey should have got that this summer.’
‘Don’t worry, sir – don’t worry over that at all.’ And Captain Cox shook his head dismissively. ‘I’ve found it to be just a matter of mugging up the old papers and seeing how the examining blighters’ minds work. We’ll wangle him through that in no time. It’s not as if it were Higher Certificate. There it does seem as if you have to know the stuff.’
Sir Bernard frowned – this being not at all his conception of the right way to pass an examination. But the spell of Captain Cox – of Captain Cox’s remoteness, even weirdness – was upon him. Humphrey plainly needed an altogether new type of approach. And no doubt this was it. Cold baths, fly-fishing, possibly equitation whether on horses or donkeys – assuredly this was what a demoralized – or at least problematical – boy required.
And Captain Cox was consulting a diary. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘the sooner we are off the better. Those relations got a shoot? We must decide about a gun. Nothing more important for the lad than that. And I think I know how just the right thing can be picked up. What’s his height, sir? Perhaps we’d better have him in.’
‘Perhaps that would be best.’ And Sir Bernard hesitated. It was more difficult, he found, with this young man than it had been with Mr Thewless to confess to the distressing fact that Humphrey was not choosing to show himself.
And the simple Captain Cox, misinterpreting this hesitation, again blushed beneath his healthy tan. ‘That is to say, sir, if you do by any chance think of taking me on. I’d do my best to pull the little blighter together for you, and all that. But perhaps some other fellow–’
Sir Bernard was in a quandary. He recalled Mr Thewless, an experienced person in whom some traces of what might be called mental life had been discernible, and he felt a lingering doubt. And now the healthy automaton before him had brought the matter to an issue. Being not quite able to decide, Sir Bernard adopted the resource of being carefully explanatory. ‘Captain Cox,’ he said, ‘you misinterpret my hesitation. I was merely reflecting’ – and here Sir Bernard’s courage fairly failed him – ‘that Humphrey may not at the moment be available.’
The effect of this speech was startling – being nothing less than a whoop of satirical laughter from behind a door on the far side of the room. There was a moment’s silence, and now it was Sir Bernard’s turn to blush. He rose, strode to the door, and threw it open. Only an empty ante-room was visible.
Captain Cox took this shocking interruption very well. ‘Not quite the thing, eh?’ he said. ‘But boys do get out of hand from time to time. I don’t know that I’d be severe. Just try to explain, you know, that there are things one doesn’t do. Start by insisting quietly on good manners and other matters will probably dry straight.’
‘It is possible that you are right.’ Sir Bernard doubted whether this simple code, admirable in a general way, would, with Humphrey, quite see Captain Cox through. But his opinion of the young man rose; he would at least not be brutally heavy-handed, which was clearly the danger with his type. Yes, those who recommended Captain Cox had no doubt substantial reason for doing so.
‘Perhaps,’ suggested Captain Cox helpfully, ‘I might chase him up now and explain that it is only in comics that people listen at keyholes? It’s not quite a thing one should let pass.’
‘On the whole, I judge that it would be better not.’ Sir Bernard disliked having his beautiful rooms turned to the uses of a bear-garden. And Humphrey, he knew, whose mental age was bewilderingly variable, would be quite capable of answering the proposed admonitions by seizing a priceless Han vase and pitching it at Captain Cox’s head. ‘The truth is that I have been obliged to enter into a sort of compact with the boy.’ Before Captain Cox’s respectful but uncomprehending gaze he again hesitated. ‘If he is to have a tutor for the holidays, it is to be not before he sets out for Ireland – where, I ought to have explained, he much wishes to go.’
Capta
in Cox, being out of his depth in such a family situation, wisely held his tongue. And Sir Bernard led the conversation back to School Certificate and then to the cousins with whom the holiday was proposed. One of them – actually a sort of nephew – had recently called and shown a disposition to improve what had hitherto been only a slender acquaintance, inviting both Sir Bernard and Humphrey to Ireland. That, of course, was impossible, for Sir Bernard had a great deal of work on hand. For years, indeed, holidays had been things unknown to him. But the invitation had suggested a possible solution of the problem of Humphrey’s vacation… Sir Bernard talked on, aware that he was not really getting anywhere. And as he talked the clock moved on too. At length he tried to settle the matter. ‘Captin Cox,’ he said abruptly, ‘I would like you to–’ And then a last twinge of doubt assailed him. ‘I would like you to stop to luncheon, if you are not engaged.’
And the luncheon – at which Humphrey did not appear – was quite a success. Sir Bernard, who rarely sat down at table in company other than that of fellow members of the Royal Society, did his best to accommodate his conversation to the interests of his guest. He ought, after all, to know more about this prospective tutor than he did. He proceeded therefore to draw him out. This proved not at all easy – and that for reasons which were entirely to the credit of Captain Cox’s good sense and modesty. Already Sir Bernard knew that the young man was something of a fire-eater; now he gathered that he had been a good deal about the world upon missions in which courage and steadiness were required. And in the war he had certainly seen his share of fighting. Pursuing this theme first with pertinacity and then with downright authoritativeness, Sir Bernard eventually extracted from Captain Cox the admission that he had been awarded the Victoria Cross. And Sir Bernard, who was as impressed by this circumstance as any normal schoolboy would be, wondered how it would strike Humphrey. It might be a strong card – on the other hand, to this too that unaccountable child’s response might be a hoot of satirical mirth… Sir Bernard, still doubtful as to a decision in this matter of tutors, found that the mere progress of the meal had made that decision for him. Over the soup it was an open question, but the serving of the sole virtually committed him – and to this commitment Sir Bernard’s butler, moving softly about the room, was a sort of gloomy witness. By the time that Captain Cox plunged his fork into a second pancake it had become apparent that there was no drawing back. Sir Bernard, therefore, went forward.
The Journeying Boy Page 2